


weightless

by orphan_account



Category: Homestuck
Genre: Emetophobia, F/F, Implied/Referenced Alcohol Abuse/Alcoholism, PWP, Plot What Plot/Porn Without Plot, Post-Sgrub
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-01-06
Updated: 2014-01-06
Packaged: 2018-01-07 19:21:01
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,593
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1123455
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/orphan_account
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>The darkness has long since left you. But their words hang in your dreams.<br/>This dream is particularly awful.</p>
            </blockquote>





	weightless

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Lorei](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Lorei/gifts).



> Thanks to Wish for beta-reading this fic and listening to my dick jokes. It was thrilling, I'm sure.

The darkness has long since left you. But their words hang in your dreams.

This dream is particularly awful.

You're lying in a dark pool of water, the tendrils of a willow hanging just above your face. You cannot move, your limbs in apparent shock. The willows begin to whisper ancient things to you, forbidden things. It leans its trunk, branches reaching down and ensnaring you. Your arms fall limp besides you as they lift you up. The tree's leaves burn like fire. You only scream when the hands of your mother form the branches of the stark white tree, calling for you.

~

You must have been thrashing pretty hard, because you crash into the nightstand and hit the floor.

You sob as you try to untangle yourself from the blankets wrapped around you, still trapped in a horrified daze. When you free your legs, you huddle against the mattress, arms over your knees.

You hide your face like a child, hair falling over your eyes. The dry heaving hurts your throat. You thank the fact that you've only eaten saltines and coffee all day.

Actually, no. You don't. Because instead a viscous black bile runs up your throat, poisoning your tongue.

You leave it on the carpet and curl up atop the blankets beside you.

Your roommate does nothing. She lies in her own bed, on her side, with one arm thrown up against the headboard. She looks quiet, even serene, and untroubled. You hate this as much as you do the nightmares.

You hover stupidly over a throbbing spot on your left temple. You caught the table pretty hard, really hard, because a steady stream of blood trickles down your brow.

You wince and wipe away the blood with your hand.

It seems like hours before the shaking eases up enough for you to stand and get a rag from the bathroom. You sit on the edge of the tub, alternatingly applying antiseptic and mopping up the blood. The medicine makes the dull throb a resounding, dizzying thud but you grit your teeth and let the pain continue.

Sometime, when the mockery of the screech owls ends and your limbs begin to drag, you will yourself back into bed. Slowly, you fall into the shadows and wish you could pray.

~

No terrors haunt you. It's not a dream, but it's close enough and that comforts you. When you pull back from the emptiness and find light invading through the thin, bedraggled curtains, your heart settles. Even the scene of your roommate sprawled out, limbs flared out in ridiculous positions, is familiar enough to give sanctuary                                                           ~

You hobble out of bed and magically make coffee out of water. Amazing, really. The temptation to dump a cup of cold water on Vriska is overwhelming. She claws out at you and slips on the sheets, bent over the side of the mattress. She rockets herself back up and clenches the comforter to her bare shoulders, one strap from her tank fallen.

" What the fuck," She breathes, " was that for?"

You aren't entirely sure. You just kind of hate her. Still, you say, "Good morning, Vriska."

The wit falls short, though. You just stand, a loose grip on the mug. Tiredness washes over you again, and you back out of the room.

Vriska sits there, dumbstruck. She later stuff mild taco sauce packets into the couch.

You don't really appreciate the gesture.

All that coffee making and thoughtful waking must have gotten to you, because several messages sit unremarked and several yarn balls remain unknit. In fact, you just sit there. Tracing the veins on your arm, you wonder if, maybe, they seem a bit grayer today. Some days, the pale blues look shades of purple and black. It frightens you, just a bit, but the next second they're gone and you're okay. You're okay.

You rub your thumb into the heel of your hand. You take small careful sips of your coffee. The brew is weak, watery, and faintly bitter. You don't much pride yourself in your coffee making skills. Sollux did it better. But to be fair, Sollux had a life and geekery and all-nighters behind him.

He'd make the strongest brew, scents wafting in from his shitty kitchenette. Then he would just throw it back, bitching about how fucking hot it was. The first time, you'd almost expected a spoonful of honey. But then you remember that Alternian honey was an entirely different matter. And not Sollux's favorite one, either.

You didn't mind the plain bitterness. You had welcomed it. the caffeine hit immediately and you could feel the manufactured power in your fingertips. This cup just tingles in the back of your throat like a demure cough. You cough a couple of times and set the cup down.

As the hour goes by, you take turns wiggling each toe. It's not particularly constructive.

Vriska hauls herself in round noon and sits on the couch. You lean against the couch arm and stuff your toes under one her legs. She doesn't much care. She's swearing at a horde of zombies and leaning perilously over the side of the couch. The packaging of "FLESHRIPPERS 2" litters the floor. The wires from the console controlled jump sharply every time she hisses at a glitch or screeches at a headshot

You tap the pads of your feet against her leg. She nudges and throws up the other leg onto the couch. You push your feet out near her ribcage, tip of your big toe resting below her sternum.

She gives a mournful howl and rips the headset off, flailing over the arm of the couch.

"Shut up, you're being loud." You kick a little into her diaphragm. She tilts her head up at you, mouth set in a line.

"Well," She starts, "Excuuuse me." She glances toward the ceiling, holding the back of her hand to her forehead. “I didn't realize you were so sensitive! How terribly callous of me!"

She flutters her eyelashes at you. You kick her off the couch. She tumbles down on her back, gasping. You cackle and drop down, perching yourself on her ribs. She tries to throw you off, but only manages to dig her face into the carpet. She mumbles something into the floor.

“What was that, Vriska? I couldn’t hear you.”

Vriska twists her neck and glances at you, a strand of hair sticking to her mouth from the hot breath. “I said,” She blows the strand away.

You sit up a little straighter. Vriska starts again, leaning in on her elbows, “I said, ‘ _get off.’_ ”

She catches you in the chest and pins you down with her forearm. You squirm but it only makes her nails dig into your collarbone.

“Vriska,” you gasp, “your ass is like a tack.”

She laughs. “Hell yeah it is!” She rolls off and knees you in the hip. You sit up, cradling your side, while she retrieves her controller from in between the couch cushions. She settles on the floor, back arched against the box spring of the couch. You sidle up next to her, hugging about three blankets close to your skin. The afternoon seems to go on like this, the two of you watching the screen as big zombie dudes explode into even bigger fountains of pus. It’s lazy, you’ll admit, and you kind of hate yourself for not having done anything. You really haven’t been doing anything all week, since it’s been a bad one. Not for work, but for you. The week’s been going a lot like yesterday, with the long, painful nightmares into the night and the long, painful sighs into the early morning. You thumb the side of your head, feeling the dull throb of last night’s fight with the nightstand. You never really took a good look at it. You just took the rag from the drawer and blinked back the bleary tears.

                You get up, reluctantly letting the blankets fall to your ankles, and walk over to the bathroom. Your lean your forehead against the mirror and pick at the angry, half-formed scab over your temple. You stop and remember the trickle of blood that flowed down the side of your face. Instead, you find a headband and push your bangs back.

                The medicine cabinet doesn’t behold much in a way of a bounty, but you suppose it wouldn’t hurt to reapply the antiseptic again. You take the little white box out of the cabinet and set it on the rim of the bathtub.

                Ten minutes go by and you don’t move. The first aid kit sits unused. You press the heel of your palm against your temple again and sigh. It’s going to be a long night.

~

                Not wanting to repeat last night, you heat up a cup of ramen and force down stale bread. Compared to salty crackers, it’s a feast. You wished you’d gone to the store earlier. For a minute, you’d thought about just cutting out some coupons and letting Vriska buy you something, but you know better than that. Last time she came back with lighter fluid and steel wool. You think of when Kanaya told you about Vriska’s cooking skills. You shudder a little.

~

                Despite the still lingering fear, your body betrays you. It calls out for the plush entrapments of comforters and down pillows, for warmth and comfort in your bed. You ignore the persistent whines in your nerves and sit hunched over your desk looking over your writing. The careful, looped lilac handwriting blurs in the yellow incandescence of the lamplight. You sigh and lean back over the chair. Little stars and spots explode behind your eyes and fatigue drowns out any sense. You crawl over to your bed and wrap the blankets around you, thinking ruefully of past, pleasant things.

~

                You lay in the hellish space between sleep and consciousness. You feel uncontrollably weightless. You think this might be how Aradia feels when she flits about the room on her wings. You haven’t floated in weeks, maybe a month. Flying was becoming less and less appetizing to someone who hardly had an appetite for anything. But when you flew, you hadn’t any wings. Your body cut through the air like it was entirely too heavy and sharp and dangerous for the air to even chance a meeting with you. Weightlessness was not you. Maybe weightlessness had been a little girl standing in the blinding rain and bleach white sands. You are a lion now, and with that comes a lion’s heart, full and bloody, not small and broken like a bird’s bones.

Still, your heart feels sick and you think that vomiting would free up any weight that’s holding you down to this earth.

~

                The voices are quieter, but they do come. They stand over you. Like relatives cooing over a new baby. But they are not cooing. They are admonishing you. You feel like a helpless child, unable to crawl. Their voices lean into you, just as the tree did. But this time you can cry and squirm away from their claws. You sob when one of them catches your wrist in its grip.

Someone shakes you awake.

~

You shriek and lash out against the unknown figure. The figure raises their arms defensively and cries out.

“Hey!”

 _Oh no,_ you think. Vriska is above you, tough, broken hair hanging in wisps past her shoulders, ends touching yours. You inch back and prop yourself up on your elbows, watching her eyes flit back and forth. You both breathe into the silence, your pulse beating against your eardrums.

                Finally you say, “How bad?”

                She very nearly cocks her damn head. “What?”

You push yourself up with your foot. Quiet and choked, you continue “Was it bad? The thrashing, I mean.”

“Yeah. I couldn’t sleep. You were clawing at the walls, crying like some crazy bitch.”

 _Not unusual,_ you think wearily. You rest your shoulders against the curve of the headboard. Vriska continues on.

“But it was the talking.” She looks into you, mouth set in a line.

“Talking?” You don’t remember anything coherent from the screams.

She sighs, “ Yeah, you just kept saying things into the pillow. I don’t know what. Just things.”

“Things…” You mimic back. You think of the high wooden slats of the crib. “That sounds right.”  

                Vriska moves off you, straightening her back. She sits on the edge of your bed, looking out towards the wall. Pale moonlight shines onto her cheek and the world seems still.

                You stare at the ceiling. Vriska keeps sneaking looks at you.

“Worried about me?” You couldn’t help but ask.

Vriska flinches a little. “No.” She stands up and you brush her hand with the tip of your finger. She moves her hand and steps away from you.

                “Vriska, I didn’t realize you cared so much.”

                She freezes. “Rose, I am not in the mood to play these kind of cards.”

                You flutter your eyelashes. “Oh, I just wanted to thank you for waking me. The curtains are beautiful tonight.”

                “No,” Vriska bites back, “ you heard what I said about the talking. And the clawing. And the-“

                “Crying.” You finish. Vriska sighs. “ _Vriska,”_ You need to know. “What did I say?”

Her eye flit towards the window. “I already told you. Just things.”

You grip the sheets. “You’re lying.”

Vriska looks up and turns her head away. “I think I’ll go.” She starts walking away.

Something real and raw stirs up in you. “No.” You breathe, “No, I think you will stay and look me in the eyes.” She does not look you in the eyes. You inhale deeply and start again. “You will look me in the eyes and tell me all the things I’ve been saying.”

                Vriska closes one bloodshot eye and smiles. “Or- _or_ we’ll go out, get slammed, and have a sweet heart-to-heart about you screaming in the middle of the night. How’s that sound?”

                You roll your eyes. Alcohol, out of everything, is probably the worst thing for you to be sopping up right now. Not that it was ever the best, either.

“Awful.” You respond.

                Vriska runs her hand through the top of her hair. “All right,” She replies. “How about _I_ get slammed and we have a wonderfully sweet heart-to-heart or girl-on-girl or whatever.”

You narrow your eyes. “Girl-on-girl?”

“You know what I meant.”

~

Soon, you’re lying on the couch, feet propped up on one of the arms. Vriska’s got a beer in her grip and you’ve got a steaming mug of tea on the coffee table. The inklings of a headache blossom just behind your eyes, you can feel it tingle just behind your brow. Vriska sits with one leg on the couch, other dangling over the side. She’s still nursing that beer and you don’t think she’ll finish it.

“Are you drunk enough now?”

She cackles. “I’ll never be drunk enough.”

                You really aren’t in the mood to watch Vriska tank a six-pack to get buzzed. Trolls aren’t very good at getting drunk. Like how elephants need a ton of tranquillizer before they pass out.

“Vriska, it isn’t like you to withhold your knowledge about me. You normally make it so clear to me. Could it be that I’ve unknowingly uttered the greatest and most ultimate secret of the universe and you don’t want to tell me?”

                She throws her hand over her forehead as if she’s fainting. “Yes! I’ve been found out! Now I have no choice but to tell you.”

“Enthrall me.”

“The secret is,” She holds a hand to her heart. “This beer,” She raises the bottle above her head. “fucking sucks.”

“If that’s the ultimate secret to the universe then I must say I’m disappointed.”

“Don’t look at me, I didn’t make this universe.” She spills half the bottle on the rug. _Your_ rug. The one that you bought! This pussy-footing must end.

“Listen, I didn’t get out of bed to wax philosophical about this universe, whichever one it is. And while I do enjoy watching you guzzle the cheapest alcohol you can wrap your lips around,” You pick up the mug and stare down into it. “I’m more interested in our earlier conversation.” The mug clinks against the glass table.  You cross your legs and the next words are terse and soft. “What did I say?”

The bottle hangs gingerly between Vriska’s fingers. Her chest heaves up weakly and she looks at you with those two golden eyes, lined with blue.

“In tongues. You spoke in tongues. You know, like a foreign language.” She scratches just behind her ear. “Not one I’d heard from trolls, or humans. It was like how Feferi’s lusus would talk. All dark and twisted.”

You think of them. What fond memories, like when you went off the deep end and got shown a wonderful set of stabs. Fun.

                You quietly sip your tea. “You dabble in the dark, forbidden ring of horrorterrors _once._ ”

“Shut up! I’m not done!” She hisses.

Yes, because you would love for this conversation to go on. You cradle the side of the mug in your hands as Vriska continues.

                “When you weren’t pulling that freaky exorcist shit, you kept saying shit about your mom.”

                The radiant heat of the mug feels cold in your hands. In the back of your mind, you’d figured as much. But it’s hard to think about her hearing it.

“Oh. Well, alright. I’m going back to bed.” You get up, still clutching the mug.

“Dude, no. Heeeey.” She calls out as you walk back to your room.

                Dead mothers aren’t the best subject between you and vriska.

~

                You huddle up on your bed and sip your tea. It’s not hot, it was never hot, but the citrus flavor still burns the back of your throat and leaves a foul taste on your tongue. Vriska charges in about five minutes after you do. She sits atop the blankets on her bed and glares at you, drumming her fingers along her thigh.

“D’ya miss her? Your mom, I mean.”

                All at once, the tea is cloying sweet and you feel sick. Your cheek twitches a little and you give her a tart sort of smile.

“Serket, would I be crying over someone I didn’t miss?”

A bitter laugh. “Yeah. I guess.” You think your hear something sad in that.

                You bite the inside of your lip. “Do you miss _your_ mother?”

                Vriska makes a wet gagging sound in her throat and laughs again.” I don’t know. I was terrified of her, what with her being a giant spider and all. But, still—I kept her fed, y’know? I _killed_  for her. She was my mom.” Vriska bangs her head against the wall. “Ow, fuck. That hurt.” She massages the back of her head and looks at you intently. “Hey,” You turn your head towards her and she says, “Does that make sense?”

                “What?” You say, “Killing people to feed a horrible, man-eating spider? Not really.”

“No! Not that! I meant—does it make sense to miss someone who threatened to eat you on a daily basis?”

“No.” You tell her. “But I suppose you can’t help that? She was your mother.”

“Yeah…” The silence again. Oh god, do you hate the silence. The way you can hear the rustling of the world behind you, the world that feels so cut off and unreachable. It can drive a girl mad.

Vriska moves herself to the foot of your bed. She sits on your ankles.

“Wow, rude.” You kick her butt off your feet. She slaps your feet away and sprawls across the width of your bed.

“How long have you been having these nightmares?”

“Stop.” Your muscles tense and you grit your teeth.

“Sorrrry.” She throws her arms above her head. You study the lines of cobalt running rich under her skin. She seems soft and tender, all pale blues and charcoal blacks in the moonlight. Right now, you wouldn’t take this woman for a killer. You think of this tall, pointed woman as a small, lanky girl. A small, lanky girl awash in blood and screams and broken, desperate pleas.

                You scoot over towards her and bow your head against her lap. She sits up and takes your head in her hands, all tender and so very, very careful. You don’t want careful. You want something fierce and stinging. But you let her hold you and you feel the coarseness of her hair against your cheek. She looks downs at you and presses her lips against your temple. You lean in and brush your lips along the sharp corners of her jaw. You turn your head towards her and let her kiss you. Her skin is struggling for warmth and yours is cold and clammy from sweat. Her lips feel crisp and jagged with the points of her fangs. She breathes and opens her mouth up more. Her teeth drag against your bottom lip and blood hits your tongue. You press harder against her mouth  and they dig eagerly into your flesh. You run your fingers through her mess of hair and she clasps her hand around your shoulder blade.

                You climb up on her, digging your knees into her thighs. She balances you by grasping her hips and pulling you tighter. You nestle yourself in the crook of her neck and move your freesing hand against her ribcage. She gasps and nearly bucks you off. You wrap your arms around her neck and laugh. You can feel her bulge grind against your crotch and you swear that she’ll go up in flames. Her cheeks flush when you kiss her collarbone and she finds her way up your shirt, running her fingers up and down your spine. You can’t control the shiver that runs through you. She smirks and rubs her thumb against your cheek. Her eyes light up and she stops just below your eye.

Her voice rasps a little. “Is this okay?”

You move your face a little closer to hers. “Yeah.”

                She draws you closer and kisses you again.

                The heel of her palm prods into your inner thigh and you lie down. She seems shocked by your submissiveness and narrows her eyes. You just smile. She leads her hand up your hip and snags the waistline of your panties with her claws. She drags them down your legs slowly, shakily. You jerk the bottom of her shirt up and she fumbles trying to take it off.

                Her cheeks flush a little. “N-not fair.” Finally, she wrenches the shirt off her head and throws it across the room. You nudge the bottom of her bulge with your foot and she adjusts herself. She tries to pull of the rest of her clothes and falls over the side of the bed. You roll over to look at her. She’s sitting on the floor with her pants just below her mid-thigh.

“ _Ow.”,_ is all she can manage.

                You point your foot at her face. “Need help?” She grabs it and hauls herself back up on the mattress. You can see a blue spot on her underwear.

“Wet already?”

“Like you aren’t?” You have to give her that.

                She sets one hand on your shoulder and takes of her underwear with the other. Her bulge curls out into a hook and writhes against her leg. You cup one of her breasts and she sighs heavily. Deliberately, you run your right hand along her bulge. She gasps and collapses onto the bed. You lean down and slip two fingers into her nook. She cries out and grips the sheets. You curl your fingers up inside her and she moans, tossing her head back. You slip a third finger in and she twists her upper body around, throwing her horns into the sheets. When you leave her she hauls you up to her and presses her chest to yours.

 

                You wind your fingers around the base of her horns while she pushes you down. The horns slip from your hands as she lowers herself. You find yourself clutching fistfuls of her hair, twisting and knotting them while Vriska pushes a knuckle against your clit. You cringe and almost scream when she presses the points of her nails into your soft, outer flesh. You wheeze and give a short, unsteady breath. You can see Vriska look up, lips pursed together. She closes her eyes and parts your own lips with her tongue. Your knee jerks up slightly and it pains you to lower it. She lingers before finding your clit again, hovering over it, anticipating you to beg. You yank at the knot formed in her hair and she hisses at you. You glare at her, not wanting to lose ground. She goes back to your clit, massaging it. Your ankles quiver and beat against Vriska’s body.

When you find yourself about to cum, she rises and digs one nail into the lowermost part of your ribcage, just above the diaphragm. You wince in pain and grab one of her arms, leaving three long scratch marks along its length. Tiny beads of blue dot the marks, slowly dribbling down. She doesn’t notice it, or rather, chooses not to. Her lips suck against the skin of your throat, curves of her fangs grazing against your veins. You groan in surprise at the feeling of her bulge against your leg. It moves damn near independently, twitching about impatiently. You move your leg closer and Vriska whimpers next to your neck.

“You aren’t _that_ close are you?”

“Like hell I am. It’ll take more than that.”

“Then,” you stop a bit when she bites your breast, “Do your worst.”

                She obliges, moving herself on top of you. He bulge is slick and slides up your leg. You loll your head back and hold your breath, waiting for it to enter. Vriska’s body shakes above you and you can feel the wet, cooling warmth of her breath on your face. Then she presses in. Your back arches in shock as you feel it slither inside you. Its ribbed edges twist, hitting inside you. Your chest swells with air and you forget to breathe. Then Vriska starts thrusting her hips back and forth. You can feel yourself stretch and the pain becomes a beating in your eardrums, but you don’t care. Her movements are savage and raw, brutally erratic at first. The pain pulses through you and your fingers slips from the sheets.

“Vriska!”

She stops and sits back a bit. “Yeah?”

“Let me hold onto you.”

Her chest rises briefly. “Alright. If you can’t handle it.”

You’ll admit that you can’t quite handle it. She bends down and you reach for her, sliding your arms under hers and groping her back. Her skin is hot and silky, you realize. You can feel Vriska quivering, almost weak in the elbows.

“I’m ready now.”

                This time, her thrusts are rhythmic and your heart syncs up to it. They’re still hard and searing, but you have her to hold onto. A few thin streams of blood trickle halfway down her back. The effect of her is dizzying and you’re whining without restraint. Pleasure ripples through you as you near your climax and you grind against Vriska’s hip. It’s so warm you can feel yourself melting off her. Vriska rears back and hits into you several times with her remaining energy.

She cums into you first. You tremble and fall back into the pillows.

And you are weightless.

 

**Author's Note:**

>  _Well goodnight moon_  
>  _I want the sun_  
>  _If it's not here soon_  
>  _I might be done_  
>  _No it won't be too soon 'til I say_  
>  _Goodnight moon_  
>  \--Shivaree, _'Goodnight Moon'_


End file.
